


The Unfortunate Demise of Agent Floodlight

by ultharkitty



Series: Floodlight [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the war, the organised crime in Kaon was mostly organised by Onslaught. Vortex, Blast Off and Brawl worked for him, and Swindle worked alongside them although not on the payroll. An undercover cop called Floodlight took on the persona of a criminal called Hardwire and joined the organisation in an attempt to gather enough evidence to bring Onslaught down. He failed, and this is the story of how he died.</p><p>Contains: graphic violence, implied offstage mech/femme intimacy, implied offstage slash. Murder mystery/crime drama.</p><p>Re. time – I have them measuring time in joors-breems-astroseconds, hence it’s written out like this: 02:40:198 etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unfortunate Demise of Agent Floodlight

“I killed him,” Vortex said, and leant back in his chair. He nudged the leg of Onslaught’s desk with his foot. “Frame’s disposed of, we’re clean. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” Onslaught lied. “But I am confused. You were meant to be at Acid Burn.” He rested his elbows on his desk, and allowed his cannon barrels to shift forward.

“I was.” Vortex shrugged. “Raze didn’t show, so I took off early.”

“Then what?” Onslaught said. “You returned to HQ, performed a sweep of the building, found Hardwire hacking our cold storage, and terminated him?”

Vortex flicked his rotors, the picture of nonchalance. “Yeah,” he said. He nudged the desk again, obviously bored, and equally obviously ignoring the implied threat in the altered angle of Onslaught’s cannons. “The frag else was I meant to do? He was an infiltration agent.”

He was? Onslaught glared; this was news to him. “And so you killed him rather than bringing him to me?”

“It all went to the smelter!” Vortex gave the ceiling an exasperated glance. “I didn’t think he’d make a move so quick.”

Onslaught forced himself to remain seated; they weren’t military any more, he didn’t have the right to beat Vortex’s attitude out of him. But it wasn’t just his enforcer’s attitude that was wrong; his whole story sounded false.

“A happy coincidence you were there to catch him,” Onslaught said. “You never sweep the building, why start now?”

It was a credit to Vortex that he didn’t even pause. “I was bored,” he replied. “C’mon, Acid Burn’s the pit, it’s not even a club, it’s like some dingy little backstreet gambling hole, and the high grade there tastes like old sump.”

“You were bored, and you decided to enhance my security by performing a sweep of this building before going home to recharge.” Onslaught attempted to meet Vortex’s gaze, but the heliformer’s visor refracted light oddly and it was always difficult to tell precisely what he was looking at.

“Yeah,” Vortex said. “You got a problem with that?”

Onslaught’s fist connected with the desk, the thud reverberating around the room; Vortex didn’t even flinch. “I’ve got a problem,” Onslaught snarled, “with the stated chronology of events. I’ve got a problem with this happy coincidence. And I’ve got a big problem with you being clocked leaving Acid Burn at 02:00 joors with Sunflare, and turning up on my security log at 02:02:45.”

“She bailed on me,” Vortex said. “Femmes do that sometimes.”

Onslaught ignored the condescension. “That’s funny,” he said, “because she called me at 02:01 to chew me out about summoning you when you were off duty.”

“So she changed her mind and took it out on you,” Vortex said. “Means scrap all.” But a tension had seeped into his pose. It was nothing major, and nothing anyone would notice who hadn’t spent a considerable amount of time negotiating his lies and manipulations.

Onslaught noticed.

He leaned forward, allowing his cannons to loom. “I have also got a problem,” he said, “with you leaving the building only one breem after you arrived – in which time you supposedly performed a sweep of the complex, caught Hardwire combing our records, interrogated and killed him.”

Vortex’s optics brightened. “I never said I interrogated him.”

“Why not?” Onslaught snapped, and this time Vortex froze.

“What do you mean, why not?” he said. “Frag, I gotta explain everything to you now?”

Onslaught glared. “Yes you do, and you want to know why? It’s because I pay your salary. It’s because I bail you out of prison every time your reckless disregard for minor codes of conduct results in you being arrested. It’s because I indulge your very particular working methods, even when you go too far. It’s because I place a significant amount of trust in you, and every lie you tell me is a violation of that trust.” He had the urge to lunge, to wrap his hands around Vortex’s throat, as though physical intimidation would have any effect. He wanted to pummel the truth out of his enforcer. His fists clenched, and he allowed the anger to build. “The truth,” he growled. “ _Now_.”

There was a pause before Vortex responded, and Onslaught could almost see his processor clocking away. When he spoke, his voice was calm and even, but his frame was still tense.

“Hardwire was an undercover security agent from Iacon whose real name was Floodlight. He was special branch, didn’t exist on file, only his handler kept records. His handler’s name is Quickspoke, a direct subordinate of Prowl. They sent Floodlight in to gather enough dirt to put us all away. I had my suspicions for a while, but last night confirmed it. There’s nothing that can trace his death back to us, all Prowl has is circumstantial evidence. I disposed of the parts off-world, Blast Off can tell you where.”

“You brought Blast Off into this?” Onslaught knew that his voice was rising alongside the rage.

“He’s competent,” Vortex said. “You’d trust anyone else?”

“Don’t throw this back at me!” Onslaught yelled. His hands ached, the servos so tight he could hear them creaking. “Get out!” he snapped, using every last shred of his willpower to remain behind his desk; this wasn’t the time to lose control. “And send Blast Off in.”

* * *

Onslaught fumed, his fists clenching and unclenching while his laser core felt like someone had rammed a star into his chest.

Vortex was lying, Onslaught was sure of it. Not about Hardwire’s true identity – the more Onslaught thought about that, the more it made sense – but about the nature of his demise. And with Floodlight dead, it was only a matter of time before Iacon’s finest would be paying Onslaught a personal visit. He needed to be prepared.

By the time Blast Off arrived, the sparks had dissolved from Onslaught’s vision, and he was able to mould his anger into something more productive.

“You wanted to see me?” Blast Off said. He gave the chair opposite Onslaught’s desk a disgusted look, then sat down without being asked.

“Last night,” Onslaught said. “What happened?”

The shuttleformer sighed. “I presume you mean the mess with Vortex and Brawl?”

“Brawl?” Onslaught’s fuel pumps slowed. “Vortex said nothing about Brawl.”

“Didn’t he?” Blast Off’s disinterest was palpable. “The next time they call me halfway through my recharge with such a… sordid request, I expect that Brawl will at least be clean.”

“Explain,” Onslaught said. He hadn’t thought to check who else had been in the building at the time. A foolish oversight, he realised, and one of the reasons he relied so heavily on Vortex for the detailed work.

“It’s all very asinine,” Blast Off said. “Vortex saw fit to interrupt my recharge, and requested my presence at HQ. He didn’t tell me what about, but I presumed that was a security measure, and attended accordingly. He and Brawl were in cargo bay three. Vortex was carrying the… expired frame of Hardwire. Brawl was grubby, to say the least. I will not permit him to enter my hold in future if he can’t at least learn the purpose of a cleaning cloth. Do you have any idea how long it takes to fully cleanse my interior?”

Onslaught didn’t want to know. “In what way was Brawl grubby?” he asked.

“Fluids,” Blast Off sniffed. “The type one might expect after one mech has taken another offline in a violent manner. At least Vortex was clean.”

Onslaught nodded, and gave himself a moment to bring his thoughts into order. Vortex had been clean, Brawl dirty. But if Brawl had killed Floodlight, why would Vortex wish to cover that up? It didn’t make sense.

“May I go?” Blast Off asked.

“Not yet,” Onslaught said. “Did they say anything to each other while in the cargo bay or your hold?”

Blast Off gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Their usual idiotic prattle,” he replied. “Vortex was complaining about a missed opportunity with some femme, and Brawl kept asking him ridiculous questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“I don’t see how this could possibly be of interest,” Blast Off said, “but if you insist, I shall access my flight log.”

“Please.” Onslaught tried to keep his impatience in check. It was easier with Blast Off than Vortex, the shuttle wasn’t obtuse because he had something to hide, but because he simply could not see the point in Onslaught’s demands. It was frustrating, but not infuriating.

“Hmm… Brawl questioned Vortex on the purpose of Hardwire’s presence at HQ. He asked how Hardwire had managed to infiltrate your organisation, although those were not the words he used, and he asked Vortex all kinds of tactless questions about whether or not he was interfacing with Swindle.”

Having been on the receiving end of Brawl’s tactless questions, Onslaught was glad the report wasn’t verbatim. Still, perhaps Vortex _had_ killed Floodlight. It was technically possible for him to have uncovered the agent and taken him offline in such a short time, and it wasn’t as though he wasn’t capable. It just didn’t feel like the right answer.

“Where did you take them?” Onslaught said.

“Coronis-Minor,” Blast Off responded. “It’s an asteroid-based smelting plant. I had legitimate reason to be there. By the time we arrived, Vortex had dismantled the body. He was not observed disposing of the parts.”

“What about Brawl?”

“I allowed him to enter my flight deck, provided he remained still and quiet. No-one saw him.”

“You stayed in alt mode throughout?”

Blast Off nodded. “It was a routine collection, if not at a routine time. I do not adopt root mode in such low places unless absolutely necessary.”

That, at least, made sense. Onslaught allowed the data to spool around his mind. What did it matter if it was Vortex or Brawl? Brawl was equally entitled – indeed required – to dispose of any threat to their business.

Apparently, though, it mattered to Vortex.

“All right,” Onslaught said. “You may go.”

* * *

Brawl bounced into the office, his treads clattering and his optics alight. “Hey boss!”

“Sit,” Onslaught snapped, and Brawl’s bounce lost a little of its elasticity.

“Boss?” he said, plunking himself down in the chair. “Is this about the crate I blew up, ‘cause I’m gonna pay for that, I just kinda forgot about it and-”

Onslaught cut him off. “This is about the dead infiltration agent that you, Vortex and Blast Off disposed of last night.” He gave Brawl a steady look, holding his gaze while the mech’s mind caught up. “How did he die?”

“Oh that!” Brawl perked up. “Tex killed him.”

“No he didn’t,” Onslaught said. “Try again. I don’t want to know what Vortex told you to say, I want to know the truth.”

“Tex…” Brawl broke eye contact to look around the room. “Helped?” he suggested.

“In what way,” Onslaught said, “did Vortex _help_.”

“Like with the cleanup?” Brawl said, then added quickly, “And the killin’ part. He did that too. And everything. He did it all, it was him.”

“Why were you there?”

“I helped!” Brawl said brightly. “Uh, kind of only maybe I didn’t? Whatever Tex said!”

Onslaught took his optics offline and watched his chronometer tick through a full dozen astroseconds. He hadn’t let Vortex get to him, and he was slagged if he would let himself become enraged by Brawl.

“You OK, boss?”

“Perfectly,” Onslaught said, and brought his visual feed back. Brawl was still looking around the room, his fingers twitching and his engine turning over a little faster than it should. “Now Brawl,” Onslaught continued. “You will tell me exactly what happened last night, from the time you received the call from Vortex, to the time you got back to Cybertron, understood?”

Brawl shook his head, and Onslaught was forced to cycle through another dozen slow astroseconds of silence. But just as he hit twelve, Brawl said, “It wasn’t Tex.”

“What wasn’t Tex?” Onslaught asked.

“The call. Swindle commed me real late. But I wasn’t in recharge or nothin’, and he was all talkin’ and stuff. And he said he couldn’t get hold of Tex, but then when I got here Tex was here too and that was all good ‘cause Tex had commed Thrusters and we went off to that rock thing in space.”

All right, Onslaught thought, we have a framework. Now, for the detail. “Blast Off told me you were covered in oil,” Onslaught commented.

“Sure was,” Brawl said. “Slag, Swin was off his head when I got there, and Tex had him pressed all down in a chair, tryin’ to stop him from flappin’ about like a loose fan belt. An’ then… An’ then Swin kinda slipped out and, uh, kinda…”

Swindle was in the buidling? Onslaught leaned forward. “He kinda _what?_ ”

“He kinda hugged me,” Brawl said. “But he was all jabberin’ on sayin’ all kinds of stupid stuff, and I don’t know. And he was clinging on like a space eel. He got me all dirty, and then Thrusters had a go at me. But it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t _want_ to get all oil and scrap on Thrusters’ seats.” He looked down, his optics suddenly dim. His next words were bitter. “Used to think Hardwire was OK, y’know?”

“Yes,” Onslaught said. “We all did. How did he die?”

Brawl sighed. “Slagged if I know. He was dead when I got there. S’pose Text must’a wiped himself down before talkin’ to Swin. Should’a wiped Swin down too, don’t think he likes being all dirty like that.”

“No,” Onslaught said. “I can’t imagine he does.” He tapped a code on the screen set into his desk, bringing up a log of people entering and leaving the building. He had no internal security cameras, and would permit no fixed recording equipment within the walls of HQ, but he liked to know who was on the premises and when.

And sure enough, from 01:09:397 to 02:10:22, Swindle was in the building.

That wasn’t good. Unlike Vortex and Brawl, whose jobs it was to work for the best interests of Onslaught’s organisation, Swindle had no such remit. He wasn’t even an employee. Just a business partner who rented space in Onslaught’s HQ, and storage on his computers.

Brawl’s fidgeting got worse, but Onslaught couldn’t tell if it was because he was bored or because he had more of Vortex’s secrets to reveal. He decided to opt for an easy question next. “What caused Hardwire’s death?”

“I dunno,” Brawl replied. “His face was all melted and there was a big hole through his head. Could’ve been a pulse cannon, or a small particle de-whatsitface, y’know the little purple deelies. Or a scatter blaster if it was up real close. Hard to tell after everything cools down.”

“Uhuh.” Not Vortex’s standard method, then. Onslaught had seen Vortex kill mechs by simply shooting them, but that was on the battlefield, or in a few select cases when such abrupt methods were the best way to get Onslaught’s point across. No, Vortex liked to get personal with his targets. Onslaught tried to get some of the tension to release from his frame; it would have been better if it had been Vortex. Lying to the authorities came as second nature to him. But Swindle? He was an unknown quantity.

“Thankyou, Brawl,” he said. “Dismissed.”

* * *

“Ons!” Swindle grinned, sidling through the door to sprawl in the chair opposite Onslaught’s desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this… summoning?”

“Got an upgrade?” Onslaught eyed his cannon. It wasn’t his usual; this one was larger, flashier.

Swindle’s smile only slipped a little. “I felt like a change,” he said. “And the femmes love it.”

“I’m sure they do,” Onslaught said. “What happened to the old one?”

Swindle waved the question away. “Who cares? It was scrap.”

“It was evidence,” Onslaught corrected him. And there it was, the flinch that he never would have got from Vortex, accompanied by a look of complete and utter panic. “Where is it?”

“Vortex took it,” Swindle said, and all his bluster evaporated. He brought his arms in closer to his sides. “He said he’d deal with it. I… I didn’t mean to, it all happened so fast, I…”

“You what?” Onslaught prompted, but Swindle merely shook his head. “This room is clean,” Onslaught reminded him. “There are no bugs, not here, not in any part of the complex. Whatever you say will remain between the two of us. I can protect you, but only if you are honest with me. Do you understand?”

Swindle’s fans began to whirr, his ventilation grew ragged, and while the panic in his optics faded he still looked as guilty as the Pit was deep.

There was a while before he responded, and Onslaught could feel the dynamic between them shift. For all his shrewd calculation and keen business sense, Swindle wasn’t equipped to deal with this. He needed Onslaught, and by the look of him, he knew it.

“Protection,” Swindle echoed, then looked up. “And it’ll be business as usual, right? I mean after the heat’s died down.”

“Yes,” Onslaught said.

“How long?” Swindle asked, and Onslaught almost felt sorry for him. But sympathy would put him at a disadvantage. Swindle was an asset, an ally, and – right now – a liability; it was inadvisable to think of him as anything else.

“As long as it takes,” Onslaught replied. “Now tell me what happened.”

“What happened,” Swindle muttered. “Oooooh frag. OK, here goes.” He straightened up in the seat. “All right, so I got back early from Praxus. Fraggers didn’t want to play, thought they’d do better with the regular kind of security tech. Slag ‘em. I thought I’d roll by the office on my way home, upload all the scrap from the meeting so I didn’t have it playing on my mind when I was trying to recharge, you know how it is.”

Onslaught nodded, although he didn’t; he valued things playing on his mind.

“So I got to my office and the door was open. Not hacked or busted or anything, just open a crack. I thought it was one of you, so I went in, but it was that mech who runs the little Kaon jobs, I could see his flashy blue wings. He’d jacked into my console and was copying _everything_.” Swindle shuddered, clasping his hands tight on his lap. “So I kicked the door shut and aimed my cannon at him. I wasn’t gonna shoot. I thought he was running intel work for one of the gangs. I never thought he was with Iacon…” Another tremor worked its way through him, and his next words emerged so fast Onslaught almost didn’t catch them. “I told him to stop the transfer and he looked at me like I was scrap, then... Then he went for his gun and so I shot him in the head.”

“And?” Onslaught said.

“And what?” Swindle snapped; he was shaking. “And I found out all kinds of stuff I never wanted to know. Like a mech’s primary fuel pump’s still gonna send stuff glugging round his body even after his personality component’s turned to vapour? Like that stuff spews all over the fraggin’ place! And oil and all kinds of slag! It was everywhere, and he wouldn’t fall over ‘cause he was still hooked up to my console and the cable was all taut, but the balance was just… right.”

This part, Onslaught had no sympathy for. Understandable that Swindle was uneasy about bartering his future independence for his current safety, but to be so affected by the death of a traitor? Swindle would require some re-education. “So you called Vortex?” Onslaught asked.

“Yeah,” Swindle replied. “I mean, who the frag else do I know who knows how to get rid of the evidence? I mean, who I can trust. But he wasn’t answering, so I called Brawl instead. But Tex got the message on the second go and he showed up first. He told me he’d sort it all out, said I didn’t have to worry. He said he’d take the rap with you.”

“That’s a big favour,” Onslaught commented. “What did you offer in return?”

Swindle looked down. “Anything,” he said. “Everything.”

 _Unwise_ , Onslaught thought, but kept it to himself. Swindle had created this situation, had made himself indebted to Vortex, and now he would have to live with the consequences.

“I didn’t know,” Swindle whispered. “I mean, that he was security. Not until Vortex said.”

Onslaught huffed. “Vortex told you?”

Swindle nodded. “When Tex saw the body, he went ballistic. Started yellin’ at me, I thought he was gonna hit me. He said he’d been onto this guy, waiting for the next time he made a report back to his superior, then Tex was gonna get him, give him the… y’know, the _treatment_ Tex does, and get all that intel about how things work in Iacon. Get him reprogrammed, have him running as a cyber-mole.”

“Vortex told you all that?” Onslaught had the urge to get up and leave, find a bar and sit there until this whole mess was over with. But there would be no ‘over with’ if it wasn’t for him. He had to see this through.

“More like screamed it at me,” Swindle said. “He wasn’t happy. Then Brawl showed up, and Tex put me in the washracks. Then they took off with the body and my cannon.”

Onslaught vented a long, slow sigh. “I think it’s time you returned to Praxus, at least for a while. Brawl will go with you.”

“Yeah,” Swindle sounded resigned. Then a change came over him. His tone brightened and he leaned forward. “You know,” he said, “they’ll only come looking if they know he’s dead. _Do_ they know he’s dead?”

Onslaught stared.

“It’s been fourteen joors, has anyone missed him?” Swindle’s smile returned full force. “Is anyone gonna miss him? Especially if you send him off-world. Somewhere a long way away, somewhere it’s far too expensive and time-consuming for Iacon to bother searching for him. Tex had all kinds of dirt on him… Maybe Hardwire can send in a few more reports, get him a long way from here before he really goes missing.”

Onslaught activated his comm. “Vortex, report to my office.”

* * *

Vortex reviewed what he’d written. He’d matched the idioms, the syntax, even the style of text that Hardwire – Floodlight – would have used. It was a little gem of forgery, and he was rather proud of it.

 _  
**Standard Periodic Report  
Coded: Access Restricted**   
_

_**To:** Quickspoke  
 **From:** Floodlight_

 _They’re sending me to Quenaluthe. The aft end of nowhere, just where I need to be. Blast Off’s the transport; he’s taking a load of consumer electronics over there, the non-sentient, legal kind. I think it’s a cover for techno-organic stim chips, but I haven’t got close enough yet to tell._

 _Two months in his cargo hold ought to give me a better idea. Oh joy._

 _Hacked into Swindle’s console, as per my last report, but didn’t find scrap all. I’ve appended a file with the raw data. It’s all stock inventories and copies of Blast Off’s reports from the logistics arm. All the legit stuff Onslaught hides behind._

 _There are a few potentially interesting entries, and I’ve highlighted those, but nothing usable as yet._

 _He almost caught me too. Must have got back early from Praxus. I hid in the annexe, and he was shuffling around in the main office for the better part of a breem._

 _Launch window for Quenaluthe closes in two joors, better get ready. Next time, expect a long report about frag all, because that’s all I’m gonna be doing._

 _  
**End**   
_

 

Now, all that remained was to hope that the codes he had stolen from the infiltration agent were still valid.

Vortex punched Floodlight’s account details into a brand new datapad, the kind with transmission capacity, but no location-specific signature. Then he uploaded the report via a similarly untraceable data stick, and sent it on its merry way to Iacon.

Five astroseconds later, a simple un-coded confirmation-of-receipt message appeared.

Vortex grinned and crushed the datapad under his heel.

 

* * *


End file.
